Treatments / Hoax
"What if...?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Treatments / Hoax
Amid the rising flood of new treatments and landmark cures which lapped
temptingly at our doorstep, I began to wonder if any supposed cure
really honored its name. I was tired of the restrictions which cancer
had placed on me, and my interest toward alternative methods of
treatment grew as rapidly as the size of my liver. I even questioned
whether a liver transplant was a possibility, but was forever wary of
the suffering involved; though I desired health, I would endure no
drastic measures toward that end, and knew also, that most
"possibilities" could never, for me, turn into a reality.
Though not actively pursuing articles, I would read or hear about the
progress of various treatments as discovered by my parents; I was never
surprised to learn that the drug or method in question was ineffective
with my type of cancer; characteristically a slow grower, a
leiomyosarcoma was also remarkably tough and resilient to the most
terrifying of chemicals.
Not easily persuaded into the acceptance of hopelessness, however, Mom
and Dad continued to inquire into the success of publicized drugs at
their source. The more controversial forms of treatment were also
investigated, and naturally their administrators claimed to have
realized at least a modicum of success. Admittedly, the thought of
undergoing treatment about which little was known seemed disconcerting,
and a mere description of certain treatments nearly made my gums
recede. One such method which sounded horrifyingly barbaric called for
the boiling of one's blood; after it had been "purified," it would be
routed back into the system once more. "If he lived..." I thought.
However, I had been on the research file while undergoing chemotherapy,
and it had been no delight either; no one of faltering strength could
long tolerate its effects, although some individuals have been known to
have received an injection on the day of their death. When man
realigns his values, perhaps one day chemotherapy also will be thought
of as barbaric and indeed, inhumane.
After countless suggestions and subsequent dead ends, we were given a
new lead from a woman who worked at the church; a lead which, in her
opinion, sounded quite promising. Quizzing her for every detail, my
father immediately fell to gathering phone numbers, including past
patients of the doctor and the number through which an appointment with
the doctor could be made. A travel agency in California would set up
the time of departure and also take care of every detail of the stay,
from hotel accommodations to the treatment itself. Incidentally, the
treatment was administered only in Greece.
Excitement pervaded the atmosphere at home as more information was
procured. The treatment boasted rave reviews, stemming from renewed
vitality to complete cures, yet side effects and discomforts as a
result of the injections were few and insignificant; indeed, the method
used sounded the least objectionable and the most productive of all
those that my parents had pursued.
Once all readily available information about the treatment had come
into our possession, we phoned several former patients who lived in our
vicinity to interview them, so to speak, and obtain any additional
thoughts concerning the trip as a whole that might otherwise have
escaped our knowledge had we only read the pamphlet prepared by the
agency. We wished to receive no surprises of the negative kind through
ignorance, especially in a foreign country. Real or imagined, however,
the patients all expressed a degree of faith in their progress after
having undergone the series of intravenous shots; if nothing more,
perhaps this "doctor" administered high-priced hope.
We discussed the option of a trip to Greece as thoroughly as possible,
not only among ourselves but with friends. Nearly everyone thought our
idea was quite splendid, and were happy that we were planning to try
it; they offered strength and support to our decision. Only two
individuals, my brother and his wife, voiced overt objections to our
plan; they questioned the authenticity of the treatment, not wanting to
see us be taken by quackery and false claims. We too were frightened
of that aspect, yet amid our uncertainty we thought that such a chance,
however questionable, should not be relinquished through skepticism
alone. "What if. . .?" was also a question too great to overlook when
the decision involved life and death.
Housing slight reluctance, I agreed this new option was one that I
should try. Quite conscious of the amount of money which the trip and
treatment would ingest, I felt the affair was an extravagance of which
I was not worthy, but my father insisted that he would spend his life's
savings if it would restore my health. The money spent on the trip
would be an investment in happiness should it prove worthwhile, and the
risk incurred was an integral part of it... for we were dealing in
"futures." The return we sought was not of the tangible sort; it
existed as yet only in our dreams.
Although I remained skeptical toward the validity of the treatment, I
could not suppress a glimmer of hope despite the hoard of fears that
took refuge in my restless mind. When the word "treatment" was denoted
as a "cure," an involuntary spark of anger was kindled in my chest,
spurred from present doubt and past disappointment; I wished to shield
myself from the gloom of overridden hope due to an empty cure, and
therefore attempted to foster little actual hope for any development
related to the disappearance of current symptoms and health disorders.
I could not, however, deny my family their renewed hope by objecting to
travel to Greece; I envisioned an image of boundless joy which my
health would generate among the family and circulate through the homes
of friends.
A beam of hope infiltrated the confines of doubt in my mind also, and I
felt ready and rather anxious to accept this treatment as a means
toward the rebirth of health; this was one chance I could not pass by,
and perhaps there would no longer be a need for groping in the
obscurity of medical scams and hypocrisy if truly it was a cure.
I hoped the doctor was worthy of the trust which he had apparently
secured, for I was about to bestow upon him some of my own; if he
begrudged my lack of complete and unadulterated trust, so then it
must be, for such was the limit which my heart could withstand.
Although the journey would be no pleasure excursion, traveling to a
strange and distant continent with uncertain health, I understood the
expectancy and purpose behind the trip, and vowed to follow the
instructions given by the doctor carefully. If the treatment
demonstrated no result, it would be through no fault of my own.
PAGE 254